I thought you lived with LeeLoo... so why were you in Plymouth today? Out bumming or slumming?

Well, I do wish you'd continued on your merry way and left me alone. What were you doing shadowing that semi truck, where I couldn't see you? For two whole blocks! And don't you know you should ALWAYS let ladies go first?

What was that?
Now wait just one second buster... I AM TOO A LADY!

At least I outsmarted you by hitting the gas and not the brakes when I saw you... otherwise, I wouldn't be writing this blog. No, I'd probably be lying on my back sucking air out of some tube counting the holes in the ceiling tile. Instead I'm sitting on my couch with several ice packs on my back, typing this note. Though, moving my car so that traffic didn't have to cross the center line to get around was a trick. The office folk said they'd never seen a tire turn like that.

And thank you for trying to talk the officer out of the citation. That was quite gentlemanly thing to do, even though I knew it was coming. I know you didn't see me either, but I had the stop sign.

And I owe a great big thank you to that kind Mr. Undapantz fella who stopped by to help this damsel in distress. Otherwise, I might have been severely distressed vs calm and collected.

But, Mr. Furburt, why did you have to follow me home? Hadn't you had enough fun today? I got home to find out you'd stolen all my ice. That's worse than nearly totalling my car! I REALLY could use a martini or three. But now I have vodka, but no ice. I even have garlic stuffed olives, but again, no ice. I could put the bottle in the snow bank, but how do I know you won't run off with it? I suppose Irish Cream and hot coco would work, but that's really no pain killer. Hmmmm... hot coco and Malibu? Guess that'll have to do.

OH FIE you again Furburt... you've taken away my opportunity to tease and twirl this weekend! OH POO POO POO!

What was that?

Yes please may I have another? Anyone have any Vicadin?

First, let me say, I hope SOMEDAY I'll post a happy sappy blog, but today is not that day.

Second, thank you my friends in Gabster-land for your thoughts, prayers, virtual hugs, and even the flowers you showered on me today. I am indeed blessed. The story goes like this:

This morning I got a phone call from my father. "There's been a development this morning with your mother." As I have shared before, my mother is suffering from an untreated mental illness. What most people would consider extremely bizarre behavior has sadly become normal to my family. But a development... that raises an eyebrow.

"Your mother woke up and said she didn't feel right and that she thinks someone has put her back on her anti-psych meds (God, I wish!). She wants to go see a doctor." Now THAT is a DEVELOPMENT.  Dad suggests that the wife of a friend of his come over to the house and do an eval or consult. When Mom finds out who the friend is, she declines. He suggests that she call the hospital in Wausau, she doesn't think she can make it that far. She finally decides to put a call into the Behavioral Health center and try to get in to see her old psychiatrist. 

Ok, a pause for some sarcasm... OK, she hasn't been under anyone treatment for almost 4 years AND she terminated that care when she decided the dr was out to get her. What makes her think that the psychiatrist's office is a walk-in clinic?  (Here's where I sent out a call for prayers and support.)

Behavioral Health tells her that because she is not a current patient, she needs a referal from a GP. Problem is, she hasn't had a GP in over 4 years because she doesn't trust anyone... they are all out to get her. So she makes an appointment with a Nurse Practitioner (someone I will refer to as Dr now... it's just easier). Dad calls and tells me who the appt is with and when. He also informs me that mom told the receptionist that she believes she was drugged last night. Can I try and reach the "Dr" and let her know our concerns and mom's mental health history.... he's afraid they might think that he drugged her if he calls.

I call and get the same receptionist. So far, so good. I explain the problem to the receptionist. She is sympathetic and tries to connect me to the "Dr's" nurse. I'm on hold for about 10 minutes. I don't care. If I manage to talk to the nurse, I stand a chance of getting the "Dr" to look for more. The receptionist finally comes back on the line apologetic and says the nurse will call me as soon as she can. 

So I wait. I don't wait well. I'm afraid to leave my desk for fear that the nurse will call while I'm away and I'll miss my chance. An hour or more later she calls and in a gush I try to explain everything thats happened, all of our fears, and hopes, for my mother today. I had about 4 minutes before she had to go, promising she'd call me back.

I sat at my desk for another 2 hours before the phone rang again. It's the nurse and I apologize for what surely sounded like desperation from a concerned daughter. She calms me and asks questions about my mothers history. She has pulled the clinic's files for the past 3 years and asks me about the episode from last September. I answer her questions succinctly, knowing that her time is very limited. Before she has to go, I ask her to try and find a way for my dad to sit in on the appt, so that we have some sane ears present to know what really was said. She said she would see to it and I thank her again.

Now I sit and wait. Dad finally calls. "Dr" asked all the right questions and Mom surprisingly answered most of them. She admitted her past psychiatric episodes, admitted to having hallucinations... in the past. When she was asked about the voices in her head, she denied it. When she was asked about talking to people that weren't there, she again denied it. Finally, my dad speaks up. He tells the "Dr" that she listens and talks to the voices in her head all the time, on a daily almost hourly basis. Mom shoots him the old evil, hoping she can silence him with a look. That doesn't work, so in that nasty tone we've come to know, she tells Dad "Leave it alone Jim". "Dr" makes notes.  The rest of the "exam" continues without incident. The "Dr" tells Mom that she wants to rule out any organic possibilities before referring her for psychiatric care. She orders a full blood workup to rule out drugging and a brain scan.

Dad escaped for a cig and called me while they were doing the bloodwork. He didn't know if the brain scan would be today or tomorrow and I haven't heard from either of them since, but tonight that's ok. I filled in my sister-in-law so she could relay it to my deer-slaying brother out in the field.

After talking to Dad I was nearly giddy. It's a first step. It's a lifeline. It's an answered prayer.  Thank you.

November has always been one of those months I could do without. It's grayness weighs on me perhaps more than any single month of the year. And it is riddled with anniversaries that I'd rather forget, as these are not moments to celebrate, but moments to mourn. It also contains the birthdays of many of those I have said good-bye to, prematurely. No, November, in all it's barren somberness, marks a time of mourning for me.  

You see, November marks most of the deaths in my life. When I was 8, my uncle was murdered; at 13, my grandfather died; at 16, another of my dad's brothers passed. When I was 33, it was my grandmother's time. While each of these passings had an effect on me, no one of them had the power to stop time, as my friend Jon Sautner's did. If he'd lived, he'd be celebrating his 39th birthday at the end of the month. But, 19 years ago today, he died. And he was 19.  

I met BJ early on in his freshman year. There were 3 of them in the quad, two Jons and a Scott. Keeping the Jons straight was confusing, so they quickly became Big Jon and Little Jon. But to me, he was always BJ. He was smart, funny, and kind. He introduced me to the theory behind Quantum Physics and taught me about fractals.

And on this day, every year, I remember the phone call that dropped me to my knees, sending my world into a tailspin. I met with the technical director for the one-woman show I was doing the scenic and lighting design for right after I got the news. I remember telling him the news, him getting up to hand me a box of kleenex, and me motioning it away. The show was less than 2 weeks away and people were counting on me, I had to keep it together, for them, as much as myself. Afterall, the show must go on. I was in shock.  

Two weeks earlier, he'd been rushed to University Hospital. He was unconscious and jaundiced. Before 48 hours would pass, they'd diagnosed him with an unidentified strain of Hepatitis. He was in full liver and renal failure. He was on dialysis and awaited a liver transplant. I still have the speeding ticket I got on my way to the hospital that night... I doing 55 in a 35. 

A week later, things were looking brighter. He'd gotten the liver he desperately needed. His kidneys began functioning on their own, and I was allowed in to see him. (His mother told his doctors that I was the closest thing to a girlfriend BJ'd ever had, so I was the only non-family member allowed in to see him.) That Monday, we'd been given the all clear and we were all allowed in to see him. He was in and out of consciousness, but we knew he could hear us. I told him about the show, and everything else going on. I had rehearsal to get back for, so I said my goodbyes. 

Less than an hour later, I was back. My car had been towed for being parked in a 4-6pm No Parking Zone. (In my defense, the tree was hiding the sign.) I went back to his room and told him, sarcastically, that I'd now gotten a speeding ticket AND towed, because of him... and that he'd better not be there the next Monday, because I couldn't afford what would happen next. I gave him a hug and kiss goodbye, and when I walked out of his room, I looked back, knowing, I didn't have to worry about what was to come.  

The next morning, he was gone.   

Most of the time following BJ's death is nebulous, at best. I acutely remember singing at his funeral, but vaguely remember the memorial and burial. I remember the pity I felt for his estranged father, as he stood there, alone in his own grief. But I remember very little else. I know that so many of us who'd come together in his death, drifted apart as life moved on. Within 5 years, we'd gone our own ways.

So every year, I celebrate the times we had, and mourn the times that were taken from us. We had just two short years together. And in the years that have passed, I've lost track of virtually all of those that mourned beside me as we buried him. And I wonder how many of them stop to remember him too...

I love Halloween.  I really do.  Not because of the candy, the chocolate, the tricks or the treats. But because of the costumes. The possibilities are endless.

And therein in lies the problem. The possibilities are endless. Endless!

I love having the chance to explore and express different sides of myself.  But which side, which part gets to come out and play for an evening?   Naughty or nice? Sweet or sexy?  Fun or serious?

And originality has never been my strong suit.  And, well, making decisions.... not so easy for me. 

And that's why I hate Halloween.

Another Halloween is upon us, and I'm still trying to figure out what to wear.  My first party, in MN, since, well, the late 80s early 90s.  Normally I'd be back in Wisconsin, also sans costume.  So, what do I do?  What do I wear?

But remember, I love Halloween. I really do.

In order to become a better person, and maybe understand myself better, I've been following several things from Oprah's site. Now, this is not my normal pasttime, but after finally listening to the Eckert Tolle podcasts, I've been following a few of her other series.

I have always believed the soul is part of something bigger, something that exits beyond space and time and the physical body.  Now I don't want to start any debates here, so please don't beat me up for this. I am NOT a religious person and have never been.  I am a spiritual person and express it in different ways.  Tonight, while following up on a few podcasts, I ran across this survey.  Now, I don't generally pass surveys on, but after seeing my results, I'm curious as to how "accurate" the results might be. Like any survey, it depends on your answers at any given moment, but I'm curious what others might discover about themselves.  The survey can be found here:

http://www.soundstrue.com/quiz/instruction/index.html

And here are my results.   Today's been one of those shake up days that sometimes makes you wonder what you're doing and if you're doing it right.... that's why I'm asking those of you who have met me, and gotten to know me, do they fit?  Do yours fit you?  Share them if you want, or not.  Just curious.

Hunter 
Caregiver 
Creator 
Thinker 
Helper 
Educator 
Performer
Leader 
Spiritualist